Mama Loved Me
by goldengreaser
Summary: A Mother's Day Special, Ponyboy remember's the woman he loved the most.


**Disclaimer- I do not own **_**The Outsiders**_

**Sorry it's a bit late**

I don't remember as much about her as I should. It's been so long since I lost her. I don't remember her face sometimes. I look at a photograph and of course I do but in a few weeks without seeing it, the memory fades. I know what she looked like but I can't bring the image fourth. I don't remember so many things. But there are so many things that I do.

I remember when I used to have nightmares she would gently pick me up out of bed and take me to the kitchen. She'd fix us some hot cocoa, mine with extra marshmallows. Then we'd go into the living room and wrap ourselves in a blanket. She would hold me close and tell me stories until I had fallen asleep. She never left me until she knew I felt safe.

Her arms were warm soft, comforting. When I was sick she'd rock me in the old rocking chair on the porch and sing soft songs rubbing my back and smiling all the while. Not even aspirin could make me feel better like she did.

I have always said Soda looks just like her but that's not the only thing he got from her either. Soda is good at getting people to open up, mom was even better. My dad used to say she could get a flower to open its petals in winter. She could talk anyone down. I could see Dallas go into a blind range and then mom would sit him on the sofa. She'd start to talk and soon he would talk. The anger would evaporate.

Even when she was first gone and Soda would lay in bed next to me and try to get me to open up I'd imagine her sitting on the edge of my bed. "Now Pony, honey what seems to be the trouble." She'd say. "You know you can tell me anything." And I could; I really could.

One of the things I remember most though was her sewing. Mom used to take in sewing to get extra money for us. Mama made her own cloths too. My dad got all us boy's cloths at the discount store and more often then not the four of us would pass one thing down to the next: Dad to Darry to Soda to me.

Sometimes though things didn't always work out that way though. When I was six dad got laid off. We didn't have much money to spare. It was midwinter and I'd outgrown my coat. It was a ratty old thing, about three sizes too small and I had just started the first grade.

It was the coldest winter we had in a long time and everyday I'd sit and freeze. Neither Soda or Darry had a coat to spare, they hadn't had any growth spurts; and we just didn't have the money to buy me a new one.

Mom simply took me into her room and sat me on the bed. She went into her closet and pulled a box of fabric scraps and brought them to the bed. She smiled at me. _"I know you want a coat from the store honey but daddy and I just don't have the money. But I'll make you a nice warm jacket. How about that?"_

I remember she let me pick out the scraps and I sat down beside her as she sewed. I remember how her hands moved fast and graceful. She'd talk to me as she sewed. She always did. We joked that I would have a coat of many colors. _"A coat of many colors for my little dreamer, just like Joseph." _

I was so proud of that coat. I was too young to be embarrassed that it was made from scraps. I was so happy to have that jacket. I'd never had a warmer coat. I loved that jacket well at first….

When I went back to school the other kids laughed at me. They said my coat looked funny. They called me rag boy for weeks on end. I came home every day in tears. And every day she would hold me tight. She'd wrap me in a warm quilt and tell me that she loved me and my coat. She said it was silly to worry about what other people think. I should worry more about being me and being warm. _"My silly little dreamer. Would you rather be warm or would you rather have them stop laughing? They'll forget about your coat in a little while but if you get yourself pneumonia it won't do you any good."_

My mother was so smart. It was years and years but I finally took it. Funny really I spent so many years worrying about what other people think. I could have saved myself a lot of trouble if I'd just taken her advice.

I also remember the quilts she made for each of us. Big warm quilts all made by hand. A tradition started because Darry was scared of going to a big boy bed. _"Whenever you get scared" she said to us, "just wrap up in the quilt and it'll be like me hugging you."_ I remember the winter she and dad died. I couldn't touch the thing. It was a year before I could use it. But once I could I never stopped. After all that had happened: Mom, Dad, Johnny and Dally, Soda lost in Vietnam…. It was the closest thing I could ever have to feeling safe, warm… happy. But it was never the same. I couldn't feel her.

Sometimes, most times, I wish I still had her to talk to. There's so many things I need to know, so many things I've forgotten. What was her favorite food, her favorite color? When did she and dad meet? There is so much advice I still need. What do I do when I make my wife angry? What's the best way to cook her special winter soup? So many things I'll never get to ask; I'll never know.

My biggest regret though is not what I'll never get to do its now what I didn't do then. I was thirteen years old and like most thirteen year olds I was going through that stage where suddenly it wasn't cool to be mommy's little boy anymore. I stopped letting her kiss me goodnight. I avoided her, didn't sit with her under the quilt with hot coca. I didn't even hug her goodbye that night…..

After she died I realized my mistake. Suddenly physical displays of affection didn't bother me so much. I needed them because she could never give them again. I'll never smell her perfume again…. Never hear her voice whisper soothing words in my ear when I'm sick….

Soda was real good about understanding all that. He was a good shoulder to lean on. He was always there with hugs for me, shoulder rubs for Darry's tired muscles. But it wasn't the same. It just wasn't the same. I'd give anything to wrap my arms around her again, anything.

My mother was a special lady and not a day goes by when I don't miss her. But sometimes I'm thankful. Thankful dad got to take her with him and vise versa. I'd give anything to have even one of them but it would be selfish of me. I remember the way she looked at him; like he hung the moon. I remember the way she and he would dance and dance. The way they'd argue playfully and she'd swat at him. It would be wrong of me to ask her to live without him and vice versa.

I have a little boy of my own now. And on winter nights when the weather is awfully cold, or nightmares come; I wrap him in the quilt my mother made for me. I warm some cocoa and I tell him how much I love him. I tell him every time he covers up with it his grandmother is givng him a hug.

He'll smile at me and say "Grandma was a special lady. She gives the best hugs ever."

"Can you feel them?"

He smiles and leans into me. He touches my heart then his. "Right there. Its even better then a big hug. I can take it with me."

And he's right. I carry her with me. And that will never change because I know that she'll always be there hugging me watching me. Mom was a special lady. She was far from perfect but I never can seem to see her as anything but. I just wish I'd realized how much I loved her when she was still alive. I'd have held her that night and never let her go. My mama loved me and I'll always love her.

**HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY TO MY MOM AND ALL MOM'S AROUND THE WORLD!**


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